Cosmic Muddling - Er - Meddling!
by Toriana
Summary: I've been trying to figure out what would allow Christine - the original spine of custard - to get up the nerve to come back to Erik after the "Final Lair" sequence - and this story is going to explore that question. For that matter, why was Erik still where Christine could find him? I think they had a little cosmic help. Erik/Christine And Nadir/OC
1. Chapter 1 - Out Of The Depths, I Cry

_I've been racking my brains for over two weeks to figure out a new approach to a "What if he stayed" scenario – and I can only come up with one way for it to happen – we'll have to bring in some help from elsewhere. Now, the other "half" of this thought is – we all know that Christine, as depicted by Leroux, is a spineless, brainless, ungrateful twit – now, I will admit – at least Webber gave her a little more gumption, but not enough to withstand Mr. Thinks-He's-God's-Gift-to-Women DeChagney. Now, to truly be the partner Erik needs, she needs to grow a spine. So how does one grow a spine in approximately one month or less? Let us explore the process._

**Cosmic Muddling – er – Meddling!**

**Chapter 1 – Out Of The Depths, I Cry**

In a place that was no place, in a time that was no time, a couple was in the midst of an argument.

"Don't you think I already tried that? I have to have tried to break through at least forty times –how many times did I attempt that insertion point? I just remember it was a Lot. Wait, here it is – sixty-eight times before I decided to try to get in farther down the line. That was the one that worked."

"But we could try an earlier point, and if we got through, we could just wait, couldn't we?"

"Well, I suppose we could, but –"

"You won't have to do it alone this time, I'll help. Please, can we try?"

"Even if we GET through, it isn't enough to just change one thing and hope – there is too much force trying to push for a tragedy, it will take at least two years, not to mention lots of effort, before we can safely leave things alone – are you sure you want to spend that much time and energy?"

"You gave me all the time there is – and I really want to do this. He's my friend, antisocial though he is – I want him to be happy, and I want to help him get that way. Please?"

"All right, already, we'll try."

The lair was all over glass, shreds of paper and wood and metal and cloth (and ash) in little piles, more or less drifting aimlessly in the air currents off the lake. For a change, Erik didn't care, although under most circumstances, he would have been outraged at the untidiness. What was the point of being neat now? What was the point of anything now, really? He truly was not sure why he didn't just end it all – it would be so simple to do. There were at least a dozen ways –

Suddenly he heard a strange grinding noise, unlike anything he had ever experienced. Whirling to face the ruckus, he saw – a door. Just a door. But it was a door where a few minutes ago there had been only solid stone. How – curious. However, at the moment, he could not work up the mental strength to care. Christine – his Christine was gone – a week ago he had given her away to that – pretty boy. And then he had fled the mob, only to come back to – this. This was no longer, could no longer be, a home – with its' location known – it was a trap – but he wanted a few things before he left, if that unruly mob had not already found them. Maybe once he had gotten back what little he still valued – he could think of a safe place to go to. Maybe.

Still with one of his eyes on the "door" that really couldn't be there, he began to slowly move towards his secret stash – since the wall on that side was still looking like a wall, he was pretty sure that those ignoramuses had not found it, much less opened it. Whatever was in the public rooms he could pretty well count on being completely ruined, but his two secret rooms should still be untouched. It was just as well he had put his precious Stradivarius away that night – or he was sure that that would be splinters as well. The bow was assuredly gone, but – a violin bow was not that hard to come by. Not in an Opera House with a full orchestra living in the building.

As he mulled over what to take and what to leave behind, or even if he should just let the mob catch him and let them finish off his miserable existence – the "door" opened and a man stepped out of it, with the door swinging shut behind him. With a start of surprise, Erik recognized the man. This could be the answer to all his prayers, or the beginning of a new nightmare – "Daroga." The tone was as flat as his recently smashed dreams. 'You once told me that you would be my conscience. Have you come to kill me?"

Nadir Khan, former Daroga to the Shah of Persia, was not really surprised by this question – but – he had had a lot of time to think about this, and some time to gather up a few facts. "No. Buquet was self-defense, and as for Piangi, I did some checking. He actually died of a massive heart attack, you just scared him into it. But he could have gone off at any time, for any reason. No, my friend, I'm here to help you. I know a safe place for you to go, to start a new, and hopefully a better, life. I'll even help you pack. Let me take you away from all this, this is no longer a safe place for you."

"Daroga, I have been thinking, it might be faster and easier if you just me die. I have nothing left to live for, now, She is gone."

"When my Fetineh died, I felt the same. When my son died, I assuredly felt the same, but this stubborn friend of mine would not let me go. So I lived, and eventually, I found myself happy again. Now, I like my life, and am glad to be living it. Now, it is my turn to do the same for you."

"But, how do you know all of this? I could have –"

"No, Erik, you are not going to talk me into ending your existence, no matter what specious arguments you try to think up. You do not get out of living that easily. Now, let's talk about what you want to take along when we leave this place for the next and last time."

"Tyrant." But it was said without heat. It was actually a little heartening to realize that someone on this earth actually cared if Erik lived or died, even if it wasn't the person he most desperately wanted it to be. "How much space for luggage do we have? And how are we getting out of here undetected? I do not think, with all of Paris howling after the "freak", just using a cloak will work."

Nadir actually grinned at him – which action, Erik noted through his mental fog, made him look barely 25 – although Erik knew Nadir to be in his late 40's. Come to think of it, he was moving better than Erik had ever seen him do, since that fall as they were leaving Persia had left a permanent limp. That seemed to be gone, too.

"I have that problem completely solved – we will not even have to go out of the building to go elsewhere. And the space is just about infinite – you can even take Cesar – providing you can get him down to this room. I ran into someone who can pull all of that off."

"Daroga, you're dreaming."

"No, I swear that I am not. Would you like to meet her?"

"Her?" Erik's brain was starting to work again. If his friend was in the grasp of such a blatant con artist, he'd better take a hand before the harpy skinned Nadir out of his last cent – it was obvious that she already had his sense, anyway. "Yes, I rather think I should meet this paragon."

Christine Daae was currently attempting to deal with the consequences of her choices, and beginning to realize that the fairy-tale ending she had been envisioning for years was just not going at all well. Oh, the clothing was exquisite, the house was stuffed with antiques, many of them gilded, but the people – she seemed to always say or do the wrong thing.

But, maybe it was only because she had been stuck in this house for almost a week while "a proper wardrobe, not those performer's rags" was being prepared for her. It was undoubtedly just that Raoul's sister and mother, not to mention the upper servants were not yet used to her and her ways.

Yet, all the water was always cold, not to mention the meals, and the servants seemed to always be whispering to each other – but not one would talk to her. It would get better. It must.

And Why, of all things, was she constantly hearing that last, mournful, cry of "Christine, I love you." in her head? She even dreamed of it, all night, every night. What was wrong with her? She was going to marry a nobleman. Her parents would have been thrilled. She should be thrilled, not uneasy.

_A/N – well, that's the beginning – I hope you like it. Please Read And Review._


	2. Chapter 2 - Becoming A Lady – Lesson 1

**Chapter 2 – Becoming A Lady – Lesson # 1**

_A/N – The standards of being a Lady in early Victorian times are __not__ the same ones being utilized today – However, my father, when he was still on this earth, did his level best to raise __me__ as a Lady from that Era. And while it didn't (mostly) take for me, let's see if the DeChagney women can remake Christine. Especially since they're really hoping she'll just disappear and leave them with their precious status quo intact. I __can__ promise you, I'm not making __any__ of these rules up. One final point – at the height of the Victorian "A Different Utensil For Everything Phase" (my words for it), a place-setting for a single diner could contain up to ninety-four pieces – I saw such a silverware set on a trip to Canada. _

The next morning, Christine, for the first time in a week, saw someone other than a maidservant. Both Raoul's mother, Dianna, and Raoul's younger sister, Yvette, were in the room with her as she woke up from her latest nightmare, one seated to each side of the large four-poster bed. Standing at the foot was a maidservant, with her arms full of clothing, piled high enough that the only part of her head that was visible was a large, old-fashioned lace-trimmed mobcap.

Madame DeChagney's expression was not encouraging, but she was at least talking to Christine. "The maid has brought you something decent to wear, after which we shall attempt to access just what training you will need before we dare let you be seen out in public without it becoming a scandal."

"Madame?" Christine was bewildered by the implications – she knew that the nobility dressed differently, but –

"Rule Number One – A Lady will never, under any circumstances, wear trousers. It's unseemly."

Christine was puzzled – true, she had rarely worn trousers except to do heavy cleaning jobs – "But what about for heavy work?"

"A Lady does not do heavy work, that is what the servants are for. Lesson # 2 – Horses Sweat, Men Perspire, And Ladies Merely Glow. If you are sweating, you must not be a Lady, and no one will treat you as one."

Christine felt a sight pang of resentment at the continued patronizing attitude. But she swallowed it – as she had already swallowed her irritation at the servants' attitudes, and the cold food and water, and the fact that she hadn't even had one word from Raoul since that first night. He seemed to have left her in the hands of his relatives and just – gone off. Perhaps this was how all the nobility lived – but she was getting bored to the point of screaming by just lying around all day. Besides, it gave her too much time for second-guessing her recent actions – and even some of her earlier ones.

While she stood like a doll, the three women were pulling piece after piece from the maid's stack of fabric, and putting it onto Christine whether she was cooperating or not. Finally there was nothing left in the maid's arms, and Christine looked like a cake with a girl stuck in the middle.

How did women move in all this? While the torso area was relatively "plain" (except for the whalebone corset underneath), she had at least three layers of lace at each shoulder, her behind now stuck out twice as far as it naturally did, her legs (limbs, never legs) were swathed in four petticoats – and, after almost a full hour, they were just now getting around to her hair!

The next rule was supplied by Yvette. "The only person to see your hair down, other than your spouse, should be your ladies maid. Only a child or a slut wears her hair loose in public."

It was almost another hour before Christine was permitted to leave her room, only to be escorted to the "Breakfast Room". Did this mean that there was another room for dinner? Was there one for supper, as well? Well, she was hungry enough that she would think about it later.

No sooner had she collected a rather substantial portion and started enjoying it than out came the rules again – "Don't eat so fast – use the other knife for that – " Christine reached for a small bunch of grapes with one hand – only to have Madame practically shrieking.

"Never touch food with your bare hands – there is a different utensil for every type of food, and you need to learn to use all of them. Use the grape scissors to cut it in half, then use the fruit fork for that – only barbarians eat with their hands."

Christine glumly looked by her plate – there were at least four types of forks, six types of spoons, five knives – there was even a small scissors off to one side. How was she ever going to know which thing went where? And this was just breakfast!

"Will Raoul be joining us?" she ventured to ask, hesitant but hopeful.

"Not today," was the disheartening reply. "He is attending on his brother Philippe, who almost drowned a week ago. Philippe is still not well enough to tend the affairs of the estate, so Raoul is getting instructions on what Philippe wants done, and seeing that they are being carried out."

Christine was glad to hear that Philippe was recovering, since Sorelli and she were friends – although she had never met the Comte herself. She really needed to see Raoul soon – her confidence in her choice was waning a little more with each day.

As Christine gloomily surveyed a future of dressing and eating (did the nobility do nothing else?), Erik was going over what was left in his lair with half his mind going over the puzzle of how to get a horse over a lake with only one small boat to do it with. Maybe he could build a small raft. How sturdy would it need to be to get one man and one horse less than a mile? Or maybe he could – but first he needed to get packed, such things as were left.

_(Really, I am not making up those rules, I promise. And things __will __get worse before they get better. So, in the meantime, Please Read And Review.)_


	3. Chapter 3 - A Talk With Madame Giry

**Chapter 3 – A Talk With Madame Giry**

_(A/N - while I hadn't planned to structure this tale quite this way, it seems to be falling into chapters alternating between Erik's POV and Christine's, so, this chapter will mostly be Erik – we'll get back to Christine in a little while.)_

Erik was just finishing up emptying out his free-standing wardrobe into a semi-large trunk Nadir had supplied when Nadir came in, rapidly shutting the passage behind them, saying, in a rather hushed tone, "Someone is nearby."

Equally quietly, Erik said, "How do you know this? Or are you guessing?"

"No, I know. My friend put listening devices all around this level."

Erik was reminded that he REALLY needed to meet this mysterious "friend", but was almost as intrigued by the concept of a listening device. Granted, there were speaker tubes all over this building (most of which, the regular occupants of the Opera House Complex were unaware of, and several of which he had installed himself, but a device just to listen? Now that was an intriguing concept.) "Do you know who it is?"

Nadir tilted his head to the right, just a little, as though he was hearing something Erik did not, and said, "It's an older woman, with a hardwood staff, dressed in dark colors. She has dark, long hair braided into a wreath about her head. She seems to be carrying a sack of something in her other hand. My friend thinks it may be Madame Giry."

Erik's interest in this "friend" increased. These devices had pictures, too? That would be very handy to have. Maybe he could get a look at these devices, and figure out how to make such a thing himself? For now, though – "It probably is Madame Giry. Can your friend show me the picture she's seeing?"

Nadir tilted his head again. Under his hat, and his hair, barely visible unless you were looking in that direction, a blue light glimmered for an instant. "Are you certain you're ready for this? My friend can show you, but – it will look very real."

"I want to see. Show me." There was a faint buzzing sensation, and then a dragonfly seemed to be hovering in an empty area of the room. Then there was a light haze coming out of the thing, and then, Madame just - appeared, still on the last area of the stairway – and part of the stair was also visible, stepping down with her right foot onto the landing area. She seemed to be talking to herself.

"I do hope the boy is still there, I do not want to swim all that way in these clothes."

Erik frowned in thought. It was true that Madame hated large open areas of water and, as far back as he could remember, always had called him "the boy". He suspected she would be doing the same until he was eighty, if they both lived that long, but should he go fetch her? Was this image even real? Well, one way to find out. He went over to a mirror he kept polished, along with several mirrors he had put on the pillars at various fixed intervals, so that he could see the landing without being seen. Madame was, indeed, there, with a sack of something in her hand, an anxious frown on her face, pacing back and forth.

Heaving a semi-exasperated sigh, Erik got to his boat dock. He did have a spare gondola for emergencies, not nearly as nice as his main boat, but, who knows where that one had ended up, after the pretty boy and his Christine had used it – it could be anywhere by now. He was not inclined to search. Besides, he had a pretty good suspicion as to who had given his location away a week ago, so, if Madame was uncomfortable, well, too bad. He would, for the sake of the past, hear her out, but –

Once back on solid ground, Madame nodded a polite greeting at Nadir (they had met before, though not often, and never really got to know each other very well) and, with her usual blunt nature, got right to the heart of what was on her mind. "You cannot keep living here; this is the first place that people will look for you."

Erik was just as blunt. "And if you hadn't shown that meddling Vicomte the way, I would not have had to leave. But yes, I am not so stupid as to ignore the fact that this place is now a rapidly shrinking cage – I merely am gathering up some supplies before I go elsewhere." He was not at all surprised by the guilty look that passed over her face before she took refuge in bluster – a tactic he used a great deal himself.

"I had to, don't you see? You've been acting like a Bedlamite for Months now, and really, Erik, dropping the main chandelier in the middle of a performance like that! I was afraid that Christine would come to grief –"

"So instead of Erik, you threw her to the Vicomte – a compulsive gambler with a drinking problem, with no music or tolerance for it? Do you truly think there's even a chance of a happy marriage that way?" Nadir had joined the argument. This was a good time to start edging things around to the way he wanted them -

Madame Giry went pale. The late, unlamented Henri Giry had been a gambler with a drinking problem, and one reason all of her dresses covered her whole neck had to do with permanent scarring on her chest and throat. "Nonsense! Raoul de Chagney is no drunkard!"

"No? You have proof of this? I've run into him several times at the bars in the next arondissment – too drunk to walk. And he's not pleasant at such times – he tends to snarl, or to strike out. Not to mention, he's a frequent visitor to the gambling hells. If it weren't for his brother running interference, the estate would be broke already."

"But they love each other – he will change, for her!" However, even as she said it, Madame felt her heart sinking – how many times had Henri sworn that he would change, for her – then lapsed a month or so later. Too many to count, that was for sure.

By this time, Erik had bowed out of the discussion, and was merely watching and listening to the two immovable forces squaring off.

Nadir was really waxing passionate at this point. "The man can't resist a bet! It's common knowledge among the clubs that last month he bet a friend which of two raindrops would reach the ground first, to the tune of 200 francs. He lost. Philippe paid the man off the next day."

"But it's too late to change things now, even if I believed you. Anyway, none of this is getting Erik safely away from here."

"Nadir, Madame, please, I can take care of myself – I've been doing it for years!" Erik had had enough of all the bickering – besides, this was neither a safe place nor a safe time to argue. "What were you wishing to bring me, Madame? You obviously went to some trouble on my behalf."

Remembering, Madame picked the cloth bag back up – opening it to reveal a purse with silver pieces, plus some cheese and sausages. "I was thinking we could smuggle you up to Calais, and you could get on a ship to America."

Nadir calmed himself, not easy when his friend had just blasted an "Oh, Hell, no, we are so not going down that path!" in his ear.

Sotto Voce, he hissed back, "Calm down, I've got this." knowing that she was right. That was a slippery road to misery – but he was aware that neither Erik nor Madame must know why this was such a Bad Idea. He would coax the old lady out the door; they only needed to stall another week or so.

_(And in the meantime, the family De Chagney has more wisdom to impart – is everybody ready for Lesson # 2? We'll see how long Christine will swallow the rules of the nobility – before she erupts. Meantime, I'd love to know what you think – Please Read And Review.)_


	4. Chapter 4 - Becoming A Lady - Lesson 2

**Chapter 4 – Becoming A Lady – Lesson # 2**

_(A/N - Thanks and a big welcome to Dkk5, Annabelle 4.0, Princess Kianna, KitKat, The newbie phan, AkatsukiMercy1515, cario, GuitarGirl97, Rupert Bear, Punkhorse, PP-PhantomPhoenix, and anyone else who has come to see the show, even if they __are__ hiding behind the curtains! OK, time for the boilerplate – I own no-one that you're likely to recognize, and no-one is making any kind of a profit off of this, my only gain is emotional satisfaction. All characters onstage so far belong to Leroux and/or Webber, all except for Nadir's as yet unseen friend, and the personality in her ship – whom we have yet to meet! OK, and the DeChagney maidservant. Now, on with the show!)_

It had been almost two weeks since Christine had seen Raoul – and some part of her was starting to get a bit resentful over that fact. He couldn't at least come down to those three-times daily torture sessions that the Madames DeChagney called meals? To be perfectly fair – he had been told to keep away from the Dining Hall at mealtimes, and, since he was a dutiful son who never questioned authority, he had been obeying the dictates of his mother, (something he usually did, in any case.) After all, Philippe was keeping him extremely busy, and it was not like Christine was going anywhere.

On the evening of day 13, (Christine had started mentally ticking off days in her head), she ran into Raoul wearily plodding up the stairs as she was starting down them.

"Raoul, is that really you? I was beginning to think I'd dreamed you up!"

Raoul fought hard to focus eyes blurred with weariness (and cognac) before he recognized a very altered Christine – her face was made up in ways he recognized as his sister's work, her hair was up in an intricate style which was probably giving her a headache (it was), and the dress was so elaborately decorated with beads and lace that it must have weighed a good twenty pounds or more.

"Christine – you look – so – different!"

"Raoul, can't we just be ourselves? Must I constantly look and act like I am really someone else? It seems like they're trying to smother the real me, and –"

"Don't be silly, you look wonderful, and after you get used to it, you will feel as if you always lived this way – and just think, you will never have to get on a stage again!" Raoul gave her cheek a quick peck and kept going, leaving Christine with her mouth open, unable to say a word.

Her thoughts, however, were going faster than she could hope to articulate. The first one to emerge from the maelstrom was _He actually thinks that is an __enticement?__ What about my career, is that gone now, too, after all my hard work?_

This made her think of her training, and, inevitably, her thoughts turned to her teacher, as she mentally reviewed all of his comments about her voice. He had liked her just as she was; he had not turned her into a pretty doll with nothing to do.

To her startlement, she realized that she wanted-needed? to be busy, to have something meaningful to do. She also liked the applause; she had been looking forward to more of it. And now, it was out of reach. Ladies did not perform, that was obvious from the way her original outfit had been gotten rid of before her head had hit the pillow the first night.

_I am beginning to think that I was carried away by the romance of marrying my best childhood friend – I forgot that he comes with a price. A price of manners and idiotic rules and vicious relatives, and this will be my __life_ _from now on. I can't even laugh the way I normally do. To quote Madame Dianna "Laughing too loudly is the sign of a weak mind." And I'll never sing again, certainly not in public. Is this __truly __what I want? And if it isn't, what do I do about it? There isn't much time left before the cage door shuts forever._

Slowly, thinking harder than she ever had before, Christine continued down the stairs. The ordeal of the last meal of the day loomed before her. She was actually losing weight, since her appetite usually crept out the back way when the two women started picking her apart, again. The fact that the fare was much better than anything she had gotten on a tray in her room didn't make up for the atmosphere she had to ingest it in.

And Raoul had thought nothing of this ridiculous rig-out, which was at least twice as heavy as any costume she'd ever worn, and much more confining. No wonder the noblewomen she had observed were always moving slower than snails, with that corset, they never had a chance to draw a decent breath!

As Christine cast a gloomy glance at her plate, there was a commotion in the outer hallway. A loud female (Loud? Ladies never raised their voice in public (Rule number – Oh, who the heck knew, she'd lost count after Rule # 88)) voice was at the door.

"He's my brother, too – now out of my way!" And what appeared in the doorway was the picture of someone who had taken most, if not all of the DeChagney's precious rules, and ripped the rulebook to shreds. Her hair was short, her dress was lacking ornamentation, she seemed able to move without impediment, and she looked to Christine's weary eyes like a breath of fresh air.

Christine then looked from mother to daughter. Both were wearing faces expressing extreme distaste, which they quickly hid under affable expressions, with an ease that gave Christine chills. This, too, she suspected that she would have to learn. In the theatre, if you didn't like someone, you were only required to be polite, not greet them like your best friend just returned from a year-long trip, which was what Yvette was now doing.

"Veronique, darling, it's been so long!" Yvette enveloped her sister in what theatre people tended to call an "A" hug – the top halves touched, but from the waist down there was no touching between the two bodies. "Why are you up from Bordeaux?"

"To see Philippe, of course. I learned that he was seriously ill and came at once." As she spoke, the owner of the voice looked around. Spotting Christine still sitting paralyzed by indecision, she nodded genially. "And who is this? I don't believe we've met. I am Veronique De Villeforte, and you are?"

"My name is Christine Daae."

"Christine Daae – now where have I heard that name before? Oh, yes, the Diva. Mother, you astonish me, I never thought you would have finally encouraged the arts – it's about time."

Dianna DeChagney actually shuddered. "Fortunately, she came to her senses and accepted Raoul's proposal instead. That career" (and her tone on the word career would have had icicles forming in a blast furnace) "is all behind her now."

And at that definitive pronouncement Christine's felt her spirits sank even lower, until she saw the newcomer wink at her in a conspiratorial fashion. "After I have a visit with Philippe, you and I will have to get better acquainted. Wait up for me, alright?"

_(A/N - An ally – just when she needs one. We shall see just how much help the "Anti-Lady" can be to our girl in a bit – for now – Please Read And Review)_


	5. Chapter 5 - About That Horse

**Chapter 5 – About That Horse**

_(A/N – Welcome aboard to GQ, Sharayel, xXChaoticOrderXx, LostChild511, and Q. To everyone else, welcome back, especially to those still hiding in the back of the room. Now, just to keep things legal, the only people I claim ownership of in this story are the two we have not yet met – everyone else is Webber's or Leroux's invention – although I have made free with some of the ones who were either passing references (like Raoul's relatives) or merely implied (like the maidservant). And nobody is paying me anything (except an occasional compliment.) Clear? Then let us go on.)_

Erik had been mentally puzzling over this problem for nearly a week. How do you get a horse over a half-mile stretch of water without a raft? Building a raft involves multiple large pieces of wood, and the more Erik stayed away from the mob, the more his instinct to live had returned to him. That much wood would tip off even those idiots who claimed ownership of his Opera House that someone was still down here – and his instincts, finely honed by years of never being caught, were starting to clamor at him to get out of this place.

But he really did not want to leave his Cesar behind; the stable hands never really had appreciated what a fine horse they had there. He said as much to Nadir, as they were sweeping up the last of the debris (it had offended Erik's instincts a bit too much to leave the place looking like such an unholy wreck) – and Nadir had looked at him with a small smile, saying only "My friend, we can get your horse here – I have an idea. Give me three days or so, and your horse will be at your side."

"Perhaps I will, but horse or no horse, in exactly one more week, we get out of here – this place is making me increasingly nervous."

"Erik, I know you listen a great deal to your instincts, but, I want you to remember something. I am on your side, you have allies. And whatever you find here that you value, you must not leave behind."

Erik merely absorbed this in silence – Nadir had been harping on this same theme for almost the entire time they had been "housecleaning." He wished Nadir would just get to the point, already!

Nadir, meantime, was asking his friend about Erik's deadline. "Am I going to need to stall him? He's getting pretty jittery, and usually that's not a good sign."

"I don't think so, the wedding is scheduled for six days from now, which means on the fifth night, we should be able to scurry away. However, now that the cleanup is done, grab that purse with all the gold coins in it, go up to the stable, buy Cesar, and buy that pretty black Andalusian mare that Cesar has been sniffing around. Since you've been dumping all the debris in one spot to make an incline out of the water, get her into the water and swim her over, and he will follow like a puppy. Simple. Your only problem is finding (or making) a spot to lead her and him into this blasted artificial lake."

"Horses swim?" Nadir had never heard of such a thing before.

A giggle came over the earpiece. "Not only can horses swim, once they get used to getting into the water, they enjoy swimming. And they are instinctual swimmers; you don't need to teach them how. The grooms have gossiped often about how much this mare, Giaconda, loves the water. That's why this will work."

"We could just steal them away –" He was only half joking, this was not going to be "simple", even if she thought it was.

"Nadir, I'm shocked. And you a police chief!"

"That was a long time ago, in another country, not to mention living under an insane royal family, which was a nightmare in itself. Now I am just a wanderer."

"Poor baby," the voice cooed back at him, "we can talk about this tonight. For now, Gr – Er – Erik needs his horse, so Erik shall have his horse. We can always gift the other one to Christine later."

Nadir felt slightly better at her teasing. She was such a serious person that he enjoyed forcing her to crack a smile. _And we both know that her Grandfather has much the same temperament – in another life, I would probably be a court jester! "_If you think it's so easy, you can ride the mare, and I shall ride the stallion, it will go much faster that way than me attempting to handle two semi-amorous horses alone! Besides, when was the last time you took a break from that console? You've glued yourself to it for the past almost three weeks! Put the observation on remote if you feel you have to, lock down the ship, and come out and join me for a little, before Erik thinks I dreamed you up! Besides, if I'm upstairs negotiating with the Chief Stableman, who is going to watch Erik? He's getting more nervous every day."

"Alright, Nadir, give me about an hour to set things up, and I will come out. Meantime, see if you can get some food into our stubborn friend – he's looking much too thin, lately." And then the earpiece clicked off.

Erik, observing, had had about enough of watching Nadir talking to himself. Grasping the small piece of – whatever-it-was – in his friend's hair, he tugged on it until it came loose, despite Nadir's resistance to the process. It was a piece of metal and some flexible clear material that was not glass, or anything else he had ever seen, about the width of a man's little finger, There were two "buttons", one sliding thing, and a tiny blue light that flashed at what appeared to be regular intervals.

Resigned (for the moment, anyway), Nadir said only, "Please be careful, if it breaks, we cannot fix that here, any replacement parts or materials to make them are a long way away from this time and place."

"You can hear through this – tiny little thing? And speak back? Where did you come by such a thing?"

"That's a long story – but – well, the quickest way to put it is, I met a time-traveler. Her ship is just through that door in your wall."

"Where you've been storing everything I wanted to keep – how big is this ship of hers anyway?"

"There is no definitive answer to that", came a soprano voice, not as melodious as Christine's. A girl with long brown-gold hair in a single braid was in the doorway. "Let's just say that she's as big as I need her to be, and leave it at that. Any quantitative answer would involve a system of mathematics and physics that I would need to tutor you in before you could have the scientific vocabulary to discuss it properly. And, while I will answer your questions, that answer would take several weeks of study at the very least. Right now, we do not have several weeks to spare; I want to be out of France before the week is through. We need to get out of here soon. I'm just waiting for one more item to arrive first."

The girl was nothing special by Parisian standards. She was not as thin as the current fashions dictated, her dress was plain maroon fabric, she barely stood up to Erik's chin, she was certainly not beautiful, and yet, there was something – almost familiar about her. Erik could not shake the feeling that he had met – not her – but a relative, somewhere, once. He could almost see – no, as she had pointed out, there was no time for this now. He would think about this feeling of recognition later.

The girl allowed him the time to think before she continued the conversation. "Greetings, Erik, my name is Tia. You are welcome on my ship, and anything you wish to take along, you shall. There is room enough."

Erik was not yet ready to take this offer at face value. "Why should you help me? I am nothing to you."

Tia looked at him with an attitude of a mother letting the toddler have his tantrum, saying simply "You cannot yet have any idea of just how wrong you are. But let's give you a reason you can understand. Nadir is my friend, and Nadir asked for my help. I gave him my word that we would rescue you from this unfortunate setback, and take you somewhere where you can enjoy yourself while still being yourself."

_Enjoy myself while still being myself? Is that even possible?_ "I am a scarred freak with blood on my hands, what kind of future can one such as I have?"

Tia looked at him as Madame Giry might look at a student who had completely messed up her dance cue. "While I hate to contradict you, you still have a great deal of value to offer in life. Yes, you are both those things. You are also a musical and scientific genius, you are a master architect, you are a jewelry designer, costumer, and metal smith, your voice is beautiful beyond any words to describe, you're a financial wizard, an excellent magician, and you're also an author. And that's just for starters. This overly perfectionistic culture is just the wrong place for you, and you will never be able to excel until you leave it behind."

Erik felt as though he'd been knocked off his feet by a rogue wave. How did she know so much? Had Nadir told her? No, the question was probably, "How much had Nadir told her?" Way too much for comfort, that was certain. He half felt like he was drowning under this flood of verbiage. About that time, he noticed something else. Like Nadir, she was not afraid of him; she was looking him right in the eye, face to face, without the least sign of even noticing the mask.

Erik felt a half-buried itch of curiosity spring to life. If everyone was like her where she came from, perhaps it would be a place for him. "Where are you from, girl?"

"Tia, please, and, America." _Just not in this century, but, let's not go there just yet. _"I assure you, you can have a whole new life, one where the light of day is no stranger to you, where you can be respected rather than an object of fear, in America. And I will get you set up with all you need to prosper by your skills, as others do. I won't even charge you for passage overseas. Do you accept?"

"But, this bargain is too one-sided. What would you get out of such a contract?"

"Thirteen percent of the net profits, for the next eleven years." Tia had already thought this question out, knowing he would ask. "Oh, I'm sure it will take at least a year or so to set up, and you would have to repay the starting costs, but, I can afford it, and, you can make us both rich as The Five Hundred, easily."

"The Five Hundred?"

"The robber barons of Wall Street call themselves the Five Hundred. Dreadfully snobby bunch, especially Vanderbilt, but, what a goal to shoot for."

_(A/N – Don't worry, Erik is __not__ making a deal with the devil (although one just might show up later – you never know with me), Tia is just recouping operating expenses. Besides, Erik is too suspicious to make a one-sided bargain. Next we go back to Christine and Madame Veronique, and Christine gets a dose of practicality, (something the girl really needs). Meantime, I hope you like the interplay between Tia and Nadir, because the two of them are just gearing up! Please Read And Review.)_


	6. Chapter 6 – The Not-Any-Kind-Of-A-Lady

**Chapter 6 – The Not-Any-Kind-Of-A-Lady**

_(A/N - It's been a while, but – I needed to figure out what Christine's triggering event was – and then the end of summer ambushed me for a bit. However, I'm BAK now, and there shouldn't be any more major events for a few months, at least, I hope not.)_

It was a few hours before there was a knock on Christine's door – which was actually something of an event in and of itself, since none of the house's other inhabitants tended to respect her privacy. Going to the door herself, Christine opened it, finding Veronique on the other side. "Do come in."

Veronique looked around at the room that her potential sister-in-law had been given. Just by the location she knew that her mother and sister were hoping to scare the girl away, since it was on the "guest's servants" floor – by rights she should have been placed down one floor and in the north wing of the chateau, where the rest of the family had their rooms.

But, even if the girl was truly in love with Raoul – well, she knew some facts about her brother that any potential wife would have to know and accept, and she sincerely doubted that Raoul had told this girl any of them. She only knew because of one night when he had been too drunk to go home, and Veronique had seen him up to her guestroom, while he had babbled the entire time.

"So how did you wind up in this house before the wedding? It seems a bit odd that you are living under your fiancé's roof, even with the two dragons to guard your reputation."

"I used to live in the Opera House, but there was a fire, and right now, I don't think anyone can live there. I didn't even have a chance to gather my things, except for my picture of my father." She indicated the wooden frame on the table near the bed. She had verbally nagged a grumbling Raoul into making that stop; it was the one thing she valued most in the world – her last and only link to her deceased father. Not that he had been happy about the delay – but, terrified though she was, Christine had been ready to go running off to the chapel by herself, and he had known it.

"So you know very little of society, outside of the Opera House?"

Christine made a face. "As your mother and sister are constantly reminding me." Trying to not dwell on such an unpleasant subject just before bedtime, since that would probably only make her nightmares worse, Christine put in a question of her own. "Why is it that your – Madame, doesn't like you?"

Veronique made a grimace right back. "I broke one of her precious rules – I married a wine merchant. Never mind the fact that my husband and I love and care about each other deeply, or, for that matter, that he has enough money to buy this place three times over, as far as she is concerned, I married beneath my social class, and by doing so, I wrote myself out of her life."

"She disowned you for that?" Christine was aghast.

"To be perfectly honest, if it hadn't been that, it probably would have been something else – I was always very odd by her standards. She lives for fashion, and to me, clothes are something you put on so that you don't get cold or arrested. She has no musical talent or appreciation, and literally gets headaches when she hears music; I have season tickets to the Opera House. I don't care what the gorgons of high society think, and she wrenches this place around with every new passing fad, just to stay in step with the Haute Ton. And Yvette is her copy; anything mother deems right will be OK with Yvette. As a young girl, I tried to love both of them, but I found that I just can't live with their standards, and Louis doesn't care if the household is in fashion or not, which suits me just fine."

Christine actually could see what Veronique was getting at – and it frightened her – was this what she had condemned herself to? No music at all? No affection? Only rules of behavior? But Veronique was still talking.

"Then I met my Louis. His father had an interest in a venture with the Comte my father, and we liked each other on sight. I tried to talk myself out of being attracted, but every time I heard his voice, I felt this funny fluttering in my stomach, my skin would flush, and I would feel a need to be near him."

Christine was getting more nervous with every word. Yes, she knew the feeling, but it was not Raoul who made her feel that way. The more Veronique went on about her Louis, the more she remembered the early days with her Angel. She had lived for his voice through the wall, she had pushed herself for his rare compliments, and she had wanted to see him so much it seemed hard to breathe. And then she had seen him, and the man had made her feel even more strange – yet Veronique was telling her that that funny feeling was the first signs of love?

While Veronique kept on talking, Christine went over their first face-to-face encounter with fresh eyes. He had been courting her, not trying to terrify her. He had been so careful not to hurt her, until she had pulled that mask away. Even then, he had shouted at her, but, while his grip and his anger had been fierce, he had not struck her; he had tried his best to talk her around. His "Oh, Christine, No." had been his giving up of what had to be a long-held dream, and his tones when he said it were of a man in deepest misery. And he had let her go back up to her friends, freely. But she had not understood him then, or, for that matter, herself. Pulling herself out of her reverie, she refocused on Madame De Villeforte. "How do you tell love from mere attraction?"

Veronique paused to clarify her words before she carefully answered. "Let me be blunt, since it's just us girls here. Love is being content to just be in his presence, when either of you are too tired to kiss or even to hug each other. It means you trust him with your deepest thoughts, and know he will never tell anyone else what you told him. And most importantly, you trust him not to ever hurt you intentionally, especially in the bedroom. Lovemaking means trusting him with a part of you that no one else will ever see, or know. This is why I am worried for you – my brother has never seen a marriage like that – the Comte and my mother really didn't even like each other very much by the time any of us children came along – and it's something that has to be at least observed before you attempt it yourself, in my experience."

"What are you saying? That Raoul does not love me?" Christine was bristling, but under that, fear was creeping in – that last encounter between them still stuck in her mind.

"No, I am not saying that. I frankly do not know if he can love, at least, not in the ways that make a good husband. What I am saying is, as a child, he was; well, not greedy exactly, as much as superficial. You know, like a young child will cry for something because it is pretty and shiny, not knowing it is a knife, which can cut him badly. And, like a child, once he had something, it always lost interest and value for him. And there is one other matter. Did Raoul ever tell you about the accident he had a few years ago?"

"No. What has that to do with anything?"

"He tries to act as though it never happened, but he was badly hurt – a sword blade cut him badly below the waist. While he and mother and Yvette will never admit it – it is not so much that he was cut as where he was cut – but he is unable to sire a child. You need to know that the only way you will have a child of this marriage is to adopt one – unless you want to break your vows once they are made!"

Christine went pale. "Are you sure? Really sure?"

"I hunted down the doctor who treated him. He finally told me – after apologizing about forty times for his language and vocabulary."

Christine was realizing that her mental picture of this fairy-tale marriage had now shattered into about a thousand lethal shards – any of them potentially deadly. She was going to have to find a way to get out of this. But how? There were only three days left before she was supposed to be at the church!

_(A/N – For those of you who are interested – that accident of Raoul's is straight out of __**The Phantom Of Manhattan**__ by Frederick Forsythe, the First Published Version Of LND. It did not sell very well, and I'm not really surprised, since the relationships in that one were warped – although __not__ as much warping as Webber did later to get LND on stage, but that accident was too good to pass up! BTW, I figure about two more chapters or so before Christine takes it on the lam – and I can hardly wait to write that scene! Just to keep it legal, no, I don't own any characters introduced here except Tia, Ciara (who?), and Louis De Villeforte, and I am not getting any monetary anything from this – OK?) Please Read And Review_


	7. Chapter 7 - The Last Round-Up

**Chapter 7 – The Last Round-Up**

_(A/N – Before I do anything else, I need to give a shout-out to Annabelle4.0, who successfully put together all the clues I've been scattering through six chapters, and came up with Tia's real identity. Yes, Tia is actually Gustave's youngest daughter – that is why she was willing to take several years to help Nadir to help Erik – but she doesn't plan to let Erik know __**that **__until Gustave has been successfully conceived! Which should be about Chapter 10, I think. For now, we need to finish moving the bigger things into the ship, and the livestock, __**including**__ Cesar.)_

The next morning, Tia came out into the lair dressed in – of all things – a riding habit, complete with almost knee-high black boots, a split skirt (a concession to the era she was in, she generally would have worn pants for this), and a neat and unornamented black top. Even Nadir, who followed her out the door, had boots on. She was talking to Nadir as they walked.

"No, we need to get that horse in today, not tomorrow – based on what I've observed, the package we've been expecting might get here any time. We will be alerted if it starts travelling, but we need to go now. Erik, while we're going to see about your horse, can you look for Ayesha? My information is that she's somewhere between here and the third basement floor, in one of your private routes, but considering the amount of traps you almost certainly have in those corridors, you'd probably be the best one to look for her. Unless you don't want your cat to come with us. It's up to you, and, I suppose, to her. I have some raw chicken, and some catnip, if you want something to tempt her with, and a leash for her collar, once you get within arm's reach."

Erik was reminded, once again, that this girl knew way too much about him for comfort. He also wanted a tour of this "ship" of hers, since so far he had not even gotten a good look into the door – it kept shutting as soon as either one cleared the doorjamb. Tia had said that he needed to be "introduced" or escorted for the door to stay open, and it made him wonder just what else she had in there – there had to be something she was hiding, the two of them kept exchanging looks that spoke in a language he had yet to learn. For now, though, he would go chase his cat, since he really would not have felt right about leaving her behind after all her presence had helped him through.

No sooner had he gone than Nadir and Tia, after remaking the swan bed up with a new, special mattress and temporarily removing the canopy as well as putting it on locking casters, so they could get the bed through the door more easily later, left for the stables on the ground floor.

Tia had made sure that they had more than enough gold pieces with them to buy every horse in the stable, since  
she fully expected the head stableman to try to jack up the price, and they really didn't have the time to negotiate him down properly. She kept having the sense that time was rapidly running out on them.

Actually, her instincts were quite correct. In the DeChagney Chateau, events were rapidly coming to a major crisis mode. Having discovered, courtesy of Veronique, that her Happy-Ever-After was not going to happen here, Christine was more than a little reluctant to leave her room. She was not sure she could keep her temper if they started picking at her this morning, now that she knew just how ugly things were under the calm surface of this oh, so elegant house. She thought it rather ironic, since she felt rather ugly under the surface herself. Her temper, which had been under strict control for many years, was coming out, and it both amazed her and frightened her at the same time. She knew that she was going to start erupting if those two nasty bitches that Raoul claimed as relatives started carping on her for just one more thing, anything at all.

Trying to lock down her attitude, she picked up the picture of her father, feeling the accustomed pang at the loss, but distantly. There were too many other, newer, feelings in the way for her sorrow at such an old grief to fully emerge to the forefront of her brain.

"Papa, I wish you could advise me, as you used to. I think, no, I know, that I've really put my foot in it this time, and whichever action I take, it's going to hurt. And not only me. Do I continue on this path? If so, things will only get worse. And I think, as Veronique pointed out, that the love I could get around here is only a possessive, greedy kind of love, or why else would Raoul have ignored me for the past weeks? Even if he does care, if his mother can make him stay away, then he doesn't love me enough to go against her wishes – which does not bode well for the future, since we would be living here for the rest of our lives." And Christine was rapidly growing to hate everyone whom she was coming in contact with here.

"Or do I take Veronique up on her offer?" Madame de Villeforte had, last night, offered to drop her off anywhere she wished to go, with enough money to take her out of town – an offer Christine had, during their conversation, thought a joke. After all, where would she go? She had never, except for a few shopping trips with Meg, been out of the confines of the Opera House grounds for almost ten years. And if the Opera House was deserted – wait – no – she had overheard the servants – Erik had not been found, he must still be hiding there, in the cellars! She would go to her angel and consult him one more time – surely, by now he had stopped being furious with her – right?

But really, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that something was pulling her back to him – and the feeling was getting more urgent every day! That must be what all her nightmares were trying to tell her. Resolved, she began to dress, putting the portrait back on the dressing table.

As she finished putting herself together – her hand went out to the picture once more. However, just at that moment, Yvette burst through the door (which was her usual method of entry around Christine), and, startled, Christine's hand jerked, knocking the portrait over. Unfortunately, there was not enough room for it to steady itself, and, before she could grab at it, picture and frame hit the floor, scattering wood chunks and glass shards in every direction. Christine could barely contain her anguish at the sight of what had once been one piece of portrait paper and was now several mismatched and lacerated strips.

Yvette was incredulous as Christine went scrabbling through the shards, picking up the pieces of picture large enough to grasp. "What on earth are you about? You cannot mean to save those shreds! The picture, whatever or whoever it was, is ruined now. Let it go!"

"Those shreds, as you call them, are all that is left of my father, and they are still valuable to me!" Christine could feel her inner shrew rising up at the challenge, but, with those shreds in her hand, she no longer cared anymore. This woman had no feeling for what she felt, and was treating her like an unwanted puppy, again. No, not again, still. Just as her mother did also. Enough was enough.

"Nonsense! That is not perfect! Only the perfect is valuable!" Yvette turned away to the door. "I will get a servant in here to clean up your mess."

Then Yvette was gone again, leaving Christine struck with an unexpected and unwelcome revelation. _Perfection. That is what they want from me, and I will never get their approval unless I can achieve it. _The inner shrew snarled back, _But the only perfect person left town almost 1900 years ago, you will never be able to pull it off for very long, much less for the rest of your life!. Besides, isn't that what you wanted from Erik? Perfection? A golden exterior to match the flawless voice?_

Christine flushed with embarrassment at that thought. It was true. She had had so much – a man whose every thought revolved around her, a promising career, everything had been so – so – bright! But she had turned her back on it for a pretty toy with no substance. Veronique's words came back to her "like a young child will cry for something because it is pretty and shiny, not knowing it is a knife, which can cut him badly." She had gotten her "knife", and she had cut herself with it. She would write Raoul a note breaking off the engagement, enclosing his ring, and then she was getting out of here. Permanently. She would go home to the Opera House, if only for her own clothes, and then she would look for Erik. If she couldn't find him, she would look for Madame Giry, and Meg. But she was not sleeping in this – snake-pit – not one more night!

Within an hour, she was out the door, and heading for the Opera House. It was easy enough, once Veronique had realized she was serious, to convince Veronique to let her go to the Opera House and let her off there – Veronique even gave her a black cloak to wear so that she would attract less attention, and she managed to get into the passageway behind the dressing table mirror without, she was sure, anyone noticing her – it was a bit too early for most of Paris to be out on the streets.

But once in the passageways, she rapidly got lost. The only thing she could tell was that she thought she was on the third under-floor, but – after floundering around in the dim light, she just sat down to review her situation. She was completely lost. But before she could really despair, she heard something up the corridor, coming towards her –

"Miow!" As far as she could tell in the dim light, it was a cat. With a collar studded with something that caught what little light there was in this passageway.

"Hello, cat." Christine greeted it, feeling much less alone. It came up to her, purring low in it's, no, her throat, and head-butted one hand before climbing into her lap. So Christine just sat there, petting the friendly creature.

As she relaxed, she started talking to it. "Would you happen to know a man named Erik?"

"Prrrr-ow."

Taking that as an affirmative, she kept going. "I hope to find him. Is he here?"

"Mrrrr."

Now, sound carries in those corridors, something Erik knew very well. But he had to be imagining those sounds – in his fervent desire to see his Christine, he had imagined her talking to his cat. Still, as he got closer to the intersection, and the sounds became more clear –

"And I need to tell him how sorry I am for treating him so badly – I acted no better than those two harpies, and I just hope he can forgive my stupidity –"

"Miowww – prrrrr."

As he rounded the turn, he saw her. Sitting in a heap on the floor, skirts a tangled froth about her legs, and his cat vocalizing in her lap. This could not be a dream, he would never, even in his worst nightmares, have dressed her in such an outrageously inappropriate dress. Pale green was so not her color.

"Christine? How did you get here?" _And thank goodness you didn't go into the left-hand corridor, it's booby-trapped._

"Erik! Oh, thank God you're still here! I needed to see you, to talk to you, I tried to find you, but, I got lost. I know you're going away, but –can I come along? Please?"

"What about your fiancé, will he not object?"

Christine looked him straight in the eye, and said, "I broke it off – but can we please discuss this somewhere else than in a dusty, poorly-lit corridor?"

"Of course, Christine, follow me." _This I need to hear from your own lips._

_(A/N – And now I can quit running a double timeline! Yay! Tune in next time for the big family reunion, followed by a departure into – well, I'm not sure where we will go first – 1890's Coney Island, or elsewhere. But we will eventually wind up on Coney (__minus __Madame Greedy AKA Giry) Please Read And Review _


	8. Chapter 8 – Everyone Out Of The Pool

**Chapter 8 – Everyone Out Of The Pool**

_(A/N – I seriously struggled with this chapter – I really, really wanted one scene in in it that I just could not get to work without it being a little too Deus Ex Machina for my taste – and for those who do not know what Deus Ex Machina is – it's a term that originates with the playwrights of Ancient Greece – if one of them wrote himself into a literary corner, it was a fairly common (if lazy) solution to have an actor playing a God get lowered to the stage (which is where the Ex Machina, or "in the machine" part comes in) and basically use Godly powers to straighten the whole mess out! That's just a little too close to Mary Sue territory for me to want any part of it. OK – now that we have that settled -)_

As Erik managed to catch Ayesha long enough to get a leash onto her collar, Christine moved back a little to give him room – right into the left hand passage. Erik looked up just in time to see her accidentally trigger the double trapdoor, and, acting on instinct, threw himself (and the cat, who objected vigorously and loudly) into the hole after her –

With a loud **SPLASH,** along with earsplitting screeches from Ayesha, three bodies, two human, one feline, hit the water together. Erik was used to the cold lake water, but he didn't even know if Christine knew how to swim, much less fully clothed, in pitch-black conditions, in frigid water. And Ayesha **hated **running water of any kind – as she was making abundantly clear!

To Erik's surprise, when he surfaced, both females were swimming adequately (albeit reluctantly), next to him as his head came back above the waterline. To his further astonishment – it was not pitch black! Someone had replenished one or two of the torches in this area, so while it was still very dim, there was enough light to make out shapes and avoid blundering into the pillars holding up the walls and roof.

Taking a breath, he retrieved the end of Ayesha's rather long leash, and turned to Christine with a sheepish half-grin, visible even with the mask on. "Are you uninjured?"

"I'm, cold, wet, and not too happy about either," she replied, treading water beside him, "but not hurt in any real way. Do you have any idea which way we should go to get **out** of here? All the directions look the same to me."

Before Erik could answer that of course he knew, he noticed that the light seemed to be getting brighter. Even as he watched, Tia and a black mare were swimming the waterway towards them, and Tia had what looked like a mine-worker's helmet on, with a strange device on top of it that seemed to give off more light than anything that small should be able to generate. Following her was Cesar with Nadir on **his** back, pursuing with as much speed as a horse can generate in water (which was not all **that **much, but still, Cesar was trying his best).

As they all met each other's eyes, Erik struck out for Cesar's back, to catch a ride, while Christine found herself sort of scooped up by Tia, and deposited in front of Tia on Giaconda, before she really thought about riding a horse, much less in the water. Ayesha was sort of clinging to Cesar's mane, and, Erik would swear, complaining in feline at the top of her lungs to Cesar. Part of Erik wondered if the horse understood all the feline grousing, or if it was just mere noise to him.

Soon enough, they were back at Erik's now empty front room, and Giaconda, at Tia's urging, emerged from the water via the "ramp" of debris that Nadir had been making. With a cry of, "Ciara, open the door to the stable, please, we're coming in," Tia just kept going, with Nadir, Erik, and the cat in tow.

To Erik's astonished eyes, the mysterious "door in the wall" swelled higher and wider, and then opened to show - a stable with two stalls. Not missing a beat, Tia slid off Giaconda's back and led her to the stall on the left, tying her reins to the post, then picked up several large fluffy cloths. To Christine, she inquired politely, "Would you wish to come down now, or do you need a few minutes to sit still first? I need to start currying this mare, besides drying all of us off. But the animals must come first, since they are relying on us humans for their care and comfort." Then, turning her head and looking at a flat gray panel in one wall, she continued, "Ciara, raise internal temperature in this room by 5 more degrees Fahrenheit, please – and make sure that there's plenty of hot water in the sanitation system, we're all going to need a hot shower after we get done with the horses."

Erik was already helping Nadir rub down Cesar. Part of him really wanted to be inspecting that grey panel, or that hat of Tia's, but, as she had said, the animals came first.

Part of being a responsible pet owner is assuring that any animal who relies on you for it's well-being gets anything it needs (although not necessarily everything it **wants**) in a timely fashion, and while Erik had little respect for many people, he especially loathed animal abusers. (That was one of the reasons he hated Carlotta – so much of what she fed those pet dogs of hers was so inappropriate – and the poor things were rapidly getting much too fat to function as a normal dog should.) He was at Cesar's head by now, and took the time to soothe and unhook his cat from Cesar's mane. As he looked around, he noticed that that door had closed as usual, but at last he had gotten **inside** this "ship". He was planning a thorough exploration just as soon as he got his horse (and himself) dry.

Once the horses were tended and fed, Tia turned to Nadir. "And now for us – if you can make sure Erik gets cleaned up, dry, and warm, and maybe give him the nickel tour along the way, I will do the same for Christine. Then I'll get started on feeding all four of us – we can make all talk and make some definite travel plans once we've all gotten more comfortable, and possibly into other garments. Figure on lunch in about – oh, let's call it two hours or so. Mademoiselle, if you will please follow me?"

"Who **are **you?" Christine felt as disoriented as she had when that trapdoor had given way – Erik seemed to know these people, but –

"Oops, sorry, you are quite correct, we have not been introduced. My name is Tiamara Erika Y'Phoenix, but you can call me Tia. I come from America. You are actually standing in my – well – its technical name is a TARDIS – but let's just call it a travel ship for now. I am – well, it's a long story, which I will tell you when we're not courting a head cold, but, let's just say I am a friend of Erik's, and so, of yours. You've just haven't gotten to know me, yet. Now, come this way, and I can get you into a nice hot bath while I explain a bit more fully. You can even borrow a few of my clothes; we're much the same size, although very few of them meet the current fashion standards."

Christine thought wryly to herself that that just might be a plus. She had had quite enough of "fashionable garments" for the moment, herself!

_(A/N – And now we can all get out of Paris! The ship is loaded, the passengers and crew are all on board, and uncharted territory awaits – where should we go first? Any side trips will be seriously considered, although our eventual destination is fixed – any suggestions?)_


	9. Chapter 9 – Memory Lane And New Discover

**Chapter 9 – Memory Lane And New Discoveries**

_(A/N - a big hello and welcome to Butterfly on the Wind, and firecaster-hikaru, and Lili, and a thousand Thank-You's to The Newbie Phan for the suggestion and I'm taking you up on that. Let's get the heck out of Paris, and on to places more congenial.)_

Nadir led the way to a quite sumptuous chamber – lots of towels, a step-in whirlpool tub, a shower big enough for three people, and that was only the first few things Erik noticed. "This **cannot** be a ship – ship cabins are cramped and usually dark, and the sanitation facilities are abysmal." However, he was quick to get out of his wet things and into the steaming, swirling hot water.

Nadir smiled tolerantly before replying, "That is usually the case with a **floating** ship, but this ship has no need to float. Since there are no weight limits here, there is plenty of room for comfort." As he spoke, he was slipping into the water himself.

"If it doesn't float, what does it do? Sink?" Erik didn't like the sound of that at all!

Nadir outright laughed. "No, Erik, this ship flies! We can go anywhere in the world in the space of hours! So, we don't need to worry about running into the gendarmerie as long as we stay away from France. Name me anywhere you've always wanted to see, and we can go see it."

"Hold on, if it flies, there **must** be weight limits." Erik was getting suspicious – was this all an elaborate scam, after all?

Nadir sighed – wishing he could have Tia doing this explanation – she was much better at making it all sound rational. Then he had an idea. Raising his voice, he summoned the one entity who truly understood the whole operation (from the inside). "Ciara, can you explain the process to my friend Erik, please? I never understood it the way you do. Better make it audio only, we're in the refresher at the moment."

An alto voice came from what seemed like all around them. "Hello, Erik. Welcome aboard. My official name is Ciara II, and I am the animating Artificial Intelligence of this TARDIS Mark III. If we are restricted to verbal only, I'd better stick with the simple version for now; the complex version really needs the illustrations to be understood. We can do that part later. Now, to begin – this is only one of many universes – each one ranging from slightly different to no recognizable similarities. This ship can move between all of them. We can –"

"I don't mean to interrupt, but what is a TARDIS?" Erik, intelligent though he was, was having a little trouble with the concept of a ship that could talk, much less explain how it ran!

"The basic acronym, TARDIS, stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space; the Mark Three denotes that there have been three Major Revisions to the basic model since the Prototype version."

"Time? And Space?" Erik's head was starting to spin with the implications of **that! **_It could mean ultimate personal power, to go and edit out anything or __**anyone**__ the pilot did not like. _"With no limitations at all?"

"Oh, there are limitations – hashed out by a counsel of representatives of all those races and species who have discovered this means of travel, but, while most of those limits are merely common sense and reciprocal courtesy, there are two major ones that need to be mentioned any time the subject of limits comes up. 1-Do not change the past of your own life, or 99 times out of 100 you will almost certainly lose everything, including your own existence. 2-Change NOTHING without extensively researching what may happen in its' place. Oh, and 3-Break Rule 1 or 2 and you **will** be hunted until you are captured, and your ability to travel permanently removed, if you even still exist. At the moment, there is only one known renegade uncaught."

Meanwhile Tia had escorted Christine to a similar chamber – and showed her how to use everything in it. "If you choose, I can leave you to bathe in peace, or we can chat. Your choice. Either way, you can change into something dry when you get through, and, if you check that door to the right, there is a walk-in closet, but you may find some of the selections a bit outlandish, as there are clothes for **several **different cultures _(and universes) _in there. Still, there should be selections that fit you well enough for now."

"But why are you doing all this? I am a perfect stranger to you, yet you are treating me like family."

"Mademoiselle, I do this for the sake of people you have not yet met, and for two you have met. Nadir asked me to help Erik, and I was happy to do so – and if you two come away happy, that will be plenty of reward for me."

"I do not understand you – you want nothing more than my happiness?"

"I want Erik happy, for a change. He has spent too many years in misery – and he cannot be happy without you."

"Are you his sister? You certainly act like you are."

"Not quite – but I will let you in on something he has not yet recognized – we **are** related. But keep that to yourself – the time to tell him that is not yet." As she spoke, she was gathering up the sodden garments that Christine had shed, preparing them for laundering. She had gotten to the cloak pocket, where the shreds of Christine's precious picture were.

"What is this?" she said, extracting the shreds, now waterlogged and looking quite pathetic. Carefully, she laid out the shards, backside up – reading the name of the photographic studio – as well as the year of origin, on the largest piece. Quickly memorizing those facts, she turned the shreds back over to what was left of the picture.

"That is what is left of my father's picture." Christine had been through too much today to have any energy left to cry, but it was obvious she still wanted to.

"I see. Well, Mademoiselle, I cannot fix this picture, but, perhaps I can do something that might help ease the loss – I shall see what I can do. Would you prefer to bathe in peace, or shall I stay and talk with you?"

"I think I shall just enjoy this hot water for now." Christine rarely got a truly hot bath.

"Very well. I have to start lunch, so I will be back to check on you in about an hour or so, and lunch will be an hour after that. Ciara, display an analog clock on the screen, please. It's about 10:15AM ship's time – lunch will start at 12:30. If you're ready, I will be back to escort you about 12:15 or so, if that's agreeable."

After she got lunch started, Tia went to consult with Ciara. "Do you think that studio still exists? After all, it's been almost twenty years since that picture was taken. And if they do, would they have kept the negatives?"

"Odds are pretty favorable – this far back, that the studio would still be going. Photography is still a pretty current trend. We can try. Does that mean –?"

"Yes, we're headed for Helsingborg, if you would be so kind as to plot the course for me."

"Leave it to me."

After lunch, which went rather well once Erik had grasped the concept of the drinking straw (he was **not **taking the mask off to eat, thank you very much), and had stuck mostly to the Split-Pea Soup, Tia announced "Our first stop on this little jaunt will be Helsingborg, I have an errand to run. Mademoiselle, if you wish for a day-trip to your old hometown, I'm sure we will have time for you to reacquaint yourself with a few locations."

"Paris to Helsingborg overnight? Just how fast does this ship go, anyway?" The concept was making Christine's head start to spin. It had taken weeks to get to France when they had first left their little cottage just outside the city limits.

Tia gave her a patient smile. "Unfortunately, you do not yet have the scientific vocabulary to answer that one right now, let's just say, as fast as it needs to, and leave it at that for the time being, alright? You won't even feel Ciara move, I promise."

Nadir spoke up. "Tia, do you need me along, or would you rather I escorted Christine?"

"That's up to you three, if you'd prefer to join Christine, I should be able to handle this one just fine by myself – do you need a Swedish language primer tonight? I can arrange it."

Erik frowned at his friend – if Christine was going sightseeing – he was coming along. It wasn't that he didn't trust Nadir, but – well, OK, he trusted NO man with his miraculously returned Christine. Even Nadir.

_(A/N – I always felt guilty for depriving Christine of that picture – besides, Erik needs a chance to propose properly. And I think we're going to have to have a stop or two more before we settle – consider it a honeymoon trip! Please Read And Review)_


	10. Chapter 10 – Picture Perfect Day

**Chapter 10 – Picture Perfect Day**

_(A/N – Now that we've gotten all the tedious explanations out of the way, we can start going places – starting with Sweden, and I have an idea where we're going next – we'll see where else sounds like it would be fun to see.) _

Early the next day, a hopeful cabdriver picked up three people near one of the more prosperous hotels in town. Two were men, one was a woman. All were dressed in black, and one man had wrapped himself up in his cape as though perpetually chilled, so that it was difficult to get a good look at his face.

"Did we really need a cab?" inquired Christine, a bit timidly. She still was not sure **what** to think of Erik's strange friends, though they seemed pleasant enough – still, she made sure that Erik stayed close to her, and he seemed quite willing to be at (and stay at) her side whenever she gave the slightest hint she wanted him there. "I know the way; we could have walked easily enough."

Nadir looked at her with that smile that never seemed far from his lips. "Mademoiselle, why walk for hours when you can ride there in less than half the time? Besides, the day is pleasant for October, and this way you will have more time to – fill your memory, since it may be some time before we return this way again. We have all day, so relax and enjoy yourself a bit."

Erik wished **he **could take Nadir's advice, and relax, but just having Christine's hand in his (she had taken it upon entering the cab interior, and had yet to release it), even with the gloves on, was as unsettling as it was gratifying. Now that he had gotten her into his company willingly, he was unsure what to do next – it wasn't like writing music, he knew how to do that, but this? This was something he'd never really dreamed of. He knew what his ultimate goal was – Christine as his willing, living wife, but **how did one GET there? **All at once, blurt out a proposal? Court her? For how long? And what, exactly, should "courting" consist of, anyway? Tentatively, he touched the ring he had once proffered, and that she had once returned, which he still wore on a chain about his neck, trying to plot out his own actions.

Christine sighed and sat back, wondering how she was going to feel about seeing the old neighborhood, even though it had been her idea to go back, to look at the house she had once lived in. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now, and, as the trio rode along, she realized that if she had not known that this was her hometown, she would never have guessed it by looking. Almost nothing looked familiar.

Eventually, the cab came to a stop, and Christine looked out the window to see a small, familiar – well, except that someone had repainted the house's exterior, and it now was a pale blue rather than the tan color she remembered, one story dwelling. There was a new iron fence around it, with an open gate leading in.

Nadir was busy talking to the cabdriver, so Erik got out first, and then lifted down his Christine (getting a secret joy from his hands briefly being about her waist, and a bigger one when she reached for his hand again once her feet were back on the ground.)

Still holding Erik's hand, Christine approached the gate. On it was a sign, proclaiming this as the former house of Gustave Daae, Citizen of Helsingborg and Famous Violinist, with a tour every Tuesday at 10 AM. Bewildered, she looked at the sign, then at Erik. "It seems to be a – big deal now– that Papa was living here. But, when I was living here, it didn't seem as if anyone even noticed us. And Papa didn't even **own** this house, we paid rent! Now they are having a house tour once a week? The house is only 5 rooms and a small back yard! This makes no sense to me."

Erik was unsure if his Christine was more upset or confused but, "Do you wish to return to the ship, then? I know Nadir has a key."

"And that's something else that makes no sense! Ships are vessels for the water, that is what makes them ships! Whatever that – that – thing is, it cannot be a ship!"

"Well, in fact, that – vessel – could go through water, but – I'm not exactly sure what it is either. However, we **are **in Sweden, overnight, so whatever it is, it does work. I did get what was called "the basic theory" but I don't pretend to understand it – yet!" Erik hesitated a moment, then grasped what he thought was the most likely reason for her outburst. "Does Tia – frighten you?" He expected (and maybe hoped – just a little) that she would say yes, so that he would have an excuse to comfort her. Instead, she – giggled at the concept.

"Erik. Angel, you don't understand women at all, do you?" It was something of a revelation to Christine – as a child, she had thought her Angel knew **everything.** In a way, it was a relief to see that he was not an expert on everything, after all. From the expression she was seeing (and wasn't it odd that she was starting to be able to read his moods right through that porcelain shield of his), he was completely at sea about her meaning, so she unbent a little.

Taking his hand, she held it in both of hers. "No, **Tia** does not frighten me. I can read her feelings fairly easily, and she truly is trying to smooth the way for us both. What scares me is the concept of **anyone **with the kind of power she wields. Such power needs limits, safeguards, if it is not to go astray. I mean, think about it for a moment – she could conceivably eliminate **anyone** who annoyed her – even though they may not have meant to." Almost as an afterthought, she muttered, "I don't even know if she believes in God, or even the same rules most good Christians follow."

Erik felt it wiser to stay silent on that point – since by this point in his life, his concept of God was a little shaky, himself. As for "good Christians" his so-called "master" Javert had professed to be one, but – this was a reminder that his Christine was raised for at least 10 years by Madame Giry, and had probably accompanied Madame to Mass every Sunday. He should not have forgotten that – now he was going to need to dig out his early childhood Catholicism to keep his Christine happy. Not that he would object to a Nuptial Mass, it was the fact that he would have to confess to a priest beforehand that was giving him the jitters, seal of the confessional or no.

At that point, Erik jerked his thoughts up short. Yes, she was here, but, this did **not** mean that Christine would automatically say yes if/when he asked for her hand in marriage. _Slow down, before you stumble over your own words and feelings. This is too important to rush. _He took a deep breath, and escorted his Christine through the gate and up the tiny walkway, wishing he dared put his arm about her shoulders. Well, at least they were still holding hands –

Nadir, who had just concluded hiring the driver and his rig for the rest of the day, at a mutually satisfactory rate, looked towards the gate and smiled to himself. He would just take a bit more time getting inside, since he had long since decided that any chaperonage he might be providing would be as loose as he could stretch the word to encompass. Since Christine still was leading Erik by the hand (and, more importantly, he was **not **trying to pull away), things seemed to be progressing nicely on that front.

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.

.

As the trio left, Tia was headed a few blocks in the opposite direction. She was ready for her self-appointed mission. Her garb did not stand out – she looked like a slightly above middle class lady of the era – she had brushed up on her Swedish and was confident in her ability to communicate her wishes – and she had brought along a satchel – which was rather heavier than it appeared. (She had made certain, before she came on this mission, to ensure she had enough 20 Krona gold pieces – with mintmarks old enough to pass inspection – to buy a rather large farm – and while she had given some to Christine, to Nadir, and to Erik for their little jaunt – there was still plenty left.)

She came to a stop at the front door of Helsingborg's oldest photography studio – which was also the place which had made Christine's father's portrait, just as the proprietor was unlocking the door for the morning. Tia waited only long enough for him to get behind his front counter (which was actually more of a large desk), using the time to judge the current value of a normal picture and frame, since prices were posted in the lower right corner of the window.

As soon as the man (whose name was on the window as Gustaf Von Norling, which, as events proved, was both the sole proprietor and the main worker of Helsingborg Image Studio) had gotten himself settled, Tia came in. After the usual opening courtesies, Tia got right to the point. "I am seeking a copy from any negatives you may still have in your archives regarding the immediate family of Gustave Daae, the late violinist. I have reason to know this studio did at one time do a candid head shot of the gentleman in question, but I am hoping you may also have other shots, maybe a wedding photo. I am prepared to pay well for an immediate search of your archives." And with that, Tia laid ten times the normal price for a normal portrait on the man's table. "That is for the disruption of searching – I am willing to pay that amount for every new picture you can produce."

Gustaf, who was having a slow week in any case, was more than willing to put aside his other work for the prospect of immediate cash in hand – besides, the archives were not so extensive that it would take more than some few hours to go through. After about three hours of searching, he found a folder with four negatives – a head-shot of Gustave, his wedding photo, one picture of the bride (Helena) standing alone, and one labeled "Christine and Helena Daae" – showing a week-old baby in the same woman's arms, with a weary smile on the mother's face. With a grin, he went to make four prints – for more profit than he normally made in two months. He then, after making sure that all the prints were thoroughly dry, placed each in a pretty, sturdy hardwood frame, then picked up packing materials and a cloth bag for the lady's trip home – wherever that was!

Coming out of the darkroom with a triumphant air, he went to his client, to show her his prizes, noting that she had spent the time quietly reading in one of his client chairs. This startled him only a little – he knew that many cultures allowed their women to read – but he thought that mostly such pastimes were reserved for the women of the rich_. Let it go, _he thought to himself, _just get your fee. _Gustaf made a point of not saying things that might upset a client, whatever he thought.

Tia saw him coming and put away the book, focusing all her attention on him, smiling in response to the grin on Gustav's face. He started with the picture of Gustave, to which she nodded eagerly. By the time he pulled out the baby picture, her grin matched his. "Sir, that is just perfect, Christine will be so pleased."

"Christine Daae? You work for her?"

"Well, this errand is for her – I hope to turn these into a wedding gift for her. Unfortunately, her man is a little slow in asking for her hand, but I am confident he will do so soon." _If I have to get him drunk to do it! I am tired of waltzing around the truth, and I dare not say more to either one until Papa Gustave is conceived – which is likely to drive __**me **__to drink! _As she spoke, she pulled the agreed on fee out of her – well, something that big could not be called a reticule – purse, then, on a whim, she doubled the amount. "Keep the change. Do something nice for your family with the extra money – and thank you so much for being quick with making the copies. I must go."

"If you can, talk the lady into letting me do **her **wedding picture – it would make a nice way of rounding out the circle."

"I cannot promise, but I will see." And with that, she left to put her new treasure away, while Gustaf did the same.

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.

.

By now, the trio had left the little house, and were having a stroll in the main public gardens in the center of town. With the cool day, there were not a whole lot of people doing the same, which suited Erik just fine – he was never at his best in a crowd. Nadir was tending to stay about 10 paces behind the pair, giving them a semblance of privacy. Nadir noted that Erik and Christine were still hand-in-hand, which pleased him – he knew what Tia was waiting for, and he would much rather have her smiling than fretting – which is what she was doing just now – at this point she was half-convinced that because her father had not been conceived on schedule, she had missed out on him ever being born at all.

Nadir, on the other hand, was convinced that the only thing needed was an opportunity for the two of them to be alone without their respective consciences messing things up! If Erik would just **propose** already, everything would work out just fine. And if he had to push, then he just might – his thought broke off when he saw Tia coming towards them over the grassy lawn, with a smile on her face, still carrying the large purse (the pictures were safely aboard with Ciara).

She smiled at the pair a little bit away, and at Nadir who was much closer. Joining him, she whispered, "It worked! Not only did I get a new print of her father for her, but I got some pictures of her mother, too. Now if we can just get him to re-propose – properly, this time – we'll be all set! Should I show her the one of her father now, do you think? Or should I wait?"

"Wait a little – don't break the mood. The way they've been holding hands all day, maybe he'll get enough courage to say the words again. If not, I may have to push him into it – but hopefully it won't come to that!"

"You think it is courage he needs?"

"When his last proposal was such a disaster? Of course it takes courage! Or desperation, which is what he used last time. Trust me on this – it takes more courage to open oneself the second time than the first – not that I've ever known Erik to lack courage." Nadir was remembering the man who stood up to an infuriated Shah of Persia, armed only with his wits, and talked almost a hundred men out of an early demise just on the strength of his personality. One thing the boy had was guts! Not always any common sense to go with them, but "Let's just hope he can read the signals she's been sending since she showed up again."

Up ahead, Erik and Christine had stopped under a large tree, with a bench set conveniently under it – as Christine sat down for a brief rest, she was still "reading" Erik's mood, he kept **almost **speaking, then drawing back – and it was getting on her nerves, just a bit. As he bent down to ensure she was comfortable, she caught a gleam at his neck, and, curious, pulled on it. As the ring came free, she smiled at him. "That, my dear, is not where that ring belongs."

"Oh?" His face, and his tone, was full of chagrin. _Too soon, too soon, __**too soon, **_his brain kept hammering at him. _She can't possibly be ready to hear it, yet._

"Of course not! It belongs – right here!" As she spoke, she was taking the ring off the chain. Then she put it where **she **wanted it most – on the index finger of her left hand. "There, that looks much better, don't you think?" She wriggled her fingers, admiring the glints that the stone made as the sunlight hit it.

Ten yards away, Tia stopped herself from an exultant shout only by clapping both hands over her own mouth. She wasn't going to spoil this moment for anything!_ Way to go, Grandmother, go after what you want! Now if Grandfather will just stop looking like a gaffed fish –_

Erik felt like he'd just been hit over the head with the Opera House Chandelier (he had reason to know just how heavy the blasted thing really **was), **but he managed not to choke as he watched the ring – **his **ring shine on his Lady's hand like the sudden reappearance of the sun after a heavy downpour. He managed not to ask the supremely stupid question, _Are you sure – this time? _only by a strong effort of will. He did manage to ask, "Would you rather have a civil ceremony, or be married by a priest?" in a tone of polite inquiry, rather than just grabbing her and heading for the church he knew was only blocks away.

"A priest, of course!"

_(A/N – This is getting too long – I think I'm going to leave the actual ceremonies to the next chapter – but I certainly hope you enjoyed my little twist – but if we waited for Erik to propose – I was afraid Tia just might have had a nervous breakdown first! Please Read And Review)_


	11. Chapter 11 – A Pious Priest

**Chapter 11 – A Pious Priest**

_(A/N – At first, I thought our next stop would have been the Vatican, but, the more I researched, the more I realized that while Pope Leo the XIII was a great scholar and visionary, he wasn't the type to do ANYTHING impromptu – so I had to move my plans around a little. Oh, well, so it goes – when your characters don't co-operate with your mental prompting, there generally is a better scene to write elsewhere, you just have to let it come to you, rather than forcing a character to act against their own nature. Let me extend a welcome to ListenToTheRainS2, anonymousninja007, fisheep423 and Veronica, and any of the people hiding in the back. Welcome to the show, and I hope you're enjoying yourselves. And, as usual, I own none of the major characters, except Tia and Ciara, and probably couldn't afford them if they ever DID come up for bid – but I'd love to be in the audience if it ever happens!)_

That night, Tia and Nadir retired to a room in Ciara that Tia called the "Research Library" which was the one place in the ship strictly off limits to guests. It was here that all the materials used in keeping the timeline from bending too much were kept – there were literally thousands of books, both the electronic type and the not yet scanned in hard-bounds, maps, fashion plates, magazines, DVD's, well, just about anything to do with the timeline in question was kept here. That included any hard currencies and other valuta, in a special, compartmentalized sub-section.

"Ok, Nadir, so what did Grandfather say? Did he have any preferences on a location?" Tia had appointed Nadir to ask Erik about religion, since it was unlikely he trusted her enough yet to get a straight answer to a sensitive question. Frequently reminding herself that to him, she was just Nadir's odd friend helped with the sting of that (a little, anyway.)

"Not really. But he is nervous on two counts."

"Go on, what two counts?"

"First, that he has no real last name to give her –"

"That's solvable. And second?"

"That he'll get a lecture, or worse, refused by the priest because of what he feels he is – you know how much that "Devil's Child" nonsense stuck with him. I think he's half afraid the roof will cave in, the minute he gets in the door of the church!"

"Yes, what his bitch of a mother started, Javert definitely glued into place – he always had traumas about his own self-worth, even in my day. However, while I'll never be able to fix it, I may be able to put a bandage on that one, IF I can get a – wait, I just had an idea. Ciara, plot a course for Venice, we're going to see if I can get an audience with Cardinal Sarto."

"Coming right up!"

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Giuseppe Melchiorre Sarto, Cardinal Of Venice, was in his element. No matter what else was crowded onto his schedule, once a week, he heard confessions, tending to his flock like the simple priest he still considered himself. It was something he looked forward to all week long – and today was Saturday at last! He had a feeling that today would be a good day.

As he heard the people, and helped them, he gave thanks to Mary (his favorite of the entire heavenly host) that he was here, where he loved to be, and was helping his people grow towards heaven, which he loved to do.

Towards the end of his day, he heard a female voice he had not heard before, speaking not Italian, but French! Well, this was not a major problem; he had learned French in his days as a seminarian. It was rather unusual, though, perhaps she was travelling through? Inwardly shrugging, he heard her little sins, gave her an appropriate penance, and pronounced the absolution.

The next person in, was another woman. She was fluent in Italian, but from some of the word choices she was making, it was obvious to him that Italian was not **her **native language, either. After the usual formalities, and the absolution, she said, "Father, I think I should say a few words before I send in my friend – he has had a long and difficult road, which I truly hope he will let you help him with, but, much of his trouble stems from his appearance. You've heard the phrase "A face only a mother could love?" Well, his face so horrified **his **mother that she treated him worse than an animal – and convinced him that he was a misbegotten child of the devil. The only bright spot in his early life was the priest who baptized him, giving him the one name he has – and I know for a fact that Erik was never confirmed. In short, he's a very complicated man, and he needs help, more than I can fully supply, no matter how much I would like to fix things. Please keep that in mind. In short, he's a very complicated man, and he needs help, more than I can fully supply. Please see what **YOU **can do, and may God bless your efforts."

Armed with this knowledge, the priest waited, patient as a cat, while the man fumbled his way through the preliminaries, with an attitude of what seemed almost like defiant despair. As the litany of pain rolled on, Father Sarto noticed that the bravado never left the voice. _This man truly believes that I will – what? Condemn him as beyond all hope? Probably._

Finally, the flood of words slowed to a stop, and then, having worked himself into a quiet angry fit, Erik said, "Well, go ahead, order me out, I deserve it – I will leave you and your gilded church in your –"

"Hold on, I am not asking you to leave. I am asking you to change. Tell me, you say you were baptized as an infant, but I heard no word about a confirmation. Were you ever confirmed as an adult?" While Father Sarto **knew **the answer was no, this was part of his strategy to pull this soul back to the light.

There was an underlying bitter sneer in the voice now. "No, my mother was too busy selling me for a case of absinthe to ensure that THAT ever happened."

"What sins she may have committed are not the point just now, we are talking about **you. **Do you repent of what sins **you** have committed? Will you try to live as a child of God should live from here on?"

"A child of God. What kind of God condemns His creation to a face no-one can stand to see? A face no one will look at without shrieking, no one will kiss, no one will touch?" Still riding on his fury, Erik pulled aside the mask with one hand, and pulled aside the screen with the other, leaving the two men face to (actual) face.

While Father Sarto was inwardly appalled at the strength of the rage that must be driving such a temper fit, he knew an opportunity when it stared him in the face. Literally. "I see no reason to scream. You are still God's child. You will always be God's child. Will you let me give you a chance for a new start?" Slowly, he extended his hand to the man with half a face. Then, on an impulse he did not understand himself, he slid the rest of the partition aside, and embraced Erik as a mother might hug a miserable child.

Erik, used to, and, truth to tell, expecting only more, pain, felt his rage leaking out as he felt his eyes fill with tears. Now, it was second nature to Erik to cry quietly, (Javert had taught him that **very** early) but just now, he felt more like bawling than he had for years.

Eventually, they made a bargain. The confirmation would be incorporated into the Nuptial Mass, which would take place tomorrow evening, and Cardinal Sarto would officiate, himself. (Erik was still a little leery of the idea of having a different priest officiating – it seemed a miracle to him that **this **priest could deal with him fairly.) It would take place in the niche Chapel dedicated to Mary in the Basilica of St Mark. _(A/N – It really is a gorgeous building, but, a bit too ornate for my taste. Well, I suppose that's what you should expect of what was once the Doge's own private church.)_

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The next morning, Christine's thoughts upon awakening were, _Today I will be married._ It was worth noting that, while the closer to the day her last (almost) wedding had been, the jitterier she had become, this time, her mood was tranquil. For a few moments. Then she went into a spiral of panic. _I have __**nothing**__ to wear! _It was in this state that she went to the breakfast area, with a side thought of,_ Thank God, this ship only seems to have a sensible three utensils per place setting! _

It was Tia who spotted Christine's distress first. "Problem?" She asked, inviting Christine to explain.

"What will I wear? I have nothing suitable for a wedding!"

"Ah, well, I think I have just the thing – come with me, if you're through eating for now." And Tia led the way to a special closet – which happened to have in it a **very **special white dress. Not only was it lovely, it was of a white so pure it seemed to glisten like fine silk in the light. The skirt was made in descending tiers, the lines of the bodice were crafted to flatter, there were pearls and glass beads at the shoulders, as well as along the multiple skirt hems. "Will this do? I designed it based on a photo of my great-grandmother's dress." _And I am not telling you that I did it about three days ago, and that Ciara helped with a fabric extruder, you don't need to know that. "_Try it on, if you like it, and we'll make adjustments till it fits."

Christine was examining the dress. "It looks like a photograph my father kept on the mantel, of my mother in her wedding gown. When I was very young, I asked him where he had gotten the picture of an angel – and he just smiled. Yes, this should do very well." By now she was trying it on, finding that the length and the bodice were perfect, it just needed a small adjustment at the waistline.

"Shoes, we need shoes. Now what would go best with that dress? White or silver, by preference. Now what have I got in silver and white? Let me think – not heels, flats, your feet are not used to heels, and besides, the line of the dress would be spoiled with heels." Half talking to herself, Tia opened a cabinet on one side. Inside were several dozen pairs of shoes, from 5 inch platform heels down to dancing slippers. "Here, try these" – and she pulled out a pair of white shoes with barely a half inch heel, but decorated with swirling silver designs on the uppers. "Fortunately, we're about the same size of shoe – you do** not** want to be poorly shod on the streets of this town – sanitation is still pretty iffy around here, especially among the lower classes."

By late afternoon they were ready to proceed. Erik had on his favorite evening cape (with jet beads on the upper half), as well as his best suit – and Christine, seeing him, felt a bit of that same thrill that had gripped her the first time she had seen that figure in her mirror, and not just heard his voice behind a wall. Nadir, Ciara, and Tia had ensured that the couple had everything they would need for the evening, so Christine also had a cape – of a velvet white as the un-trampled snow in winter, (and just short enough not to hit whatever was on the street outside.) Nadir and Tia were dressed in autumn browns, so as not to outshine the bride or groom, and had ensured that no rings or other critical pieces had been left behind. Ciara had deployed several remote miniature cameras, so as to make a complete record of the proceedings, and Tia had whipped up documentation for Erik in his new name, (not that he needed it much while in Europe, but, once they got to America, it would be better to have papers.)

Tia had also had a word with Cardinal Sarto before they had left the church the previous evening regarding music for the ceremony – small wedding or no small wedding, she was determined that there **would be **at least one song – and while she knew her voice was no match for Christine's, she could sing well enough. And though she had the benefit of a few hundred more years' worth of musical selections to cull through for her selection, really, there was only one choice – and never mind that it hadn't been written yet! With the help of Ciara, she had translated the lyrics into French, and she had rehearsed the song until she was as flawless as it would ever be.

As they came into sight of the Basilica, Cardinal Sarto was waiting eagerly at the door – it was not often these days that he got to perform a marriage where the both members of the couple were so very eager to be wed – and this was a soul he felt **he **had recalled to the light. He went through the confirmation ceremony first with his spirit rejoicing in the joy of the moment, and the first part of the wedding, barely noticing the words, until he came to the homily. _(A/N – For the non-Catholics in the wings – you would probably call this part the sermon.)_ He was never sure, afterwards, what he had said but, he could see on the couple's faces, and by the way they both stood a little straighter, that it had touched them. He was glad of that, too. He also noticed that, while they had started out as a party of 5, there were a few people who had come to pray, and stayed to watch, sitting in the back aisles.

At length, they came to the exchange of vows. Erik needed very little prompting, he felt like he'd been waiting for this all his life. Holding her hand in both of his, his voice rang pure and clear. "I, Erik Y'Phoenix, take you, Christine Helena Daae, to be my beloved wife, to have and to hold you, to honor you, to treasure you, to be at your side in sorrow and in joy, in the good times, and in the bad, and to love and cherish you always. I promise you this from my heart, for all the days of my life."

Christine had been startled, just a little, by the Y'Phoenix, since she knew Tia had that surname – and then she **knew **whose child this really must be, and privately resolved to find out – just as soon as an opportunity came up, just **why **her granddaughter was so very determined to make sure everything ran smoothly – what future tragedy was she attempting to avert? _Not __**now, **__Christine, find out later! _Taking a deep breath, she spoke. "I, Christine Helena Daae, take you, Erik Y'Phoenix, to be my beloved husband, to have and to hold you, to honor you, to treasure you, to be at your side in sorrow and in joy, in the good times, and in the bad, and to love and cherish you always. I promise you this from my heart, for all the days of my life."

The rings were duly blessed, the host consecrated – it had been agreed that Tia would sing her song in place of the usual communion hymn, so she stood near the altar, playing her guitar, and, facing front, sang the one song that she wanted to include – anachronistic though it was, The "Wedding Song" by Noel "Paul" Stookey.

"He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts

Rest assured this troubadour is acting on his part.

The union of your spirits, here, has caused him to remain

For whenever two or more of you are gathered in his name

There is love. There is love.

Well, a man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home

They shall travel on to where the two shall be as one.

As it was in the beginning is now and until the end

Woman draws her life from man and gives it back again.

And there is love. There is love.

Well then what's to be the reason for becoming man and wife?

Is it love that brings you here or love that brings you life?

And if loving is the answer, then who's the giving for?

Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?

Oh there's love, there is love.

Oh the marriage of your spirits here has caused him to remain

For whenever two or more of you are gathered in his name

There is love. There is love."

_(A/N – Paul always claimed that the song was not truly his, that it just came to him by divine inspiration – and it is truly one of the most beautiful collections of lyrics __**ever.)**_

Cardinal Sarto knew enough French to interpret those lyrics – and he definitely approved of the sentiment behind them. Shaking off the spell of the words, he continued – watching with approval as, as a last act of a single female, Christine laid a wreath of colorful leaves at the feet of the statue of Mary (really, it was so difficult to find fresh flowers this time of year,) before returning to the main altar and her new husband.

With an inner grin, Cardinal Sarto finished the ceremony, privately resolving to get that sheet music off of Tia if he could manage it – he wanted to translate that song to Italian himself. "I now pronounce you man and wife – you may kiss the bride."

Christine beat Erik to it, kissing him, mask and all, to the cheers of the spectators, and the amazement of her new spouse.

_(A/N – OK, so I do not own Cardinal Sarto either – he belongs to God alone, and to those whom he chooses to make himself known to. I tried to be as respectful as I could, but I felt, on this eve of All Saint's Day, that I needed to borrow a Saint – and His Holiness Pius the 10__th__ was right timewise as well as having the attitude needed. I really hope he, and you, enjoyed the wedding. Please Read And Review)_


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